Chapter 3 #2
Immediately, my eyes land on Olivia.
She’s looking gorgeous tonight in a black, sequined dress that sparkles when she moves. It has an open back; her loose, dark hair is pulled back into a plait that runs between her shoulder blades, auburn highlights streaking the braid.
As always, Olivia’s in heels. Tonight, they’re silver, pencil-thin, and at least five inches tall—tall enough that she’s at eye level with most of the other women in the room, despite her tiny stature.
She stands next to Sophie, a martini in her hand, talking to Cole and Riley as they laugh and cling to each other.
I shake my head, dismissing the automatic thought that comes to mind.
Olivia isn’t a hookup option, I remind myself.
I have a few ground rules for these kinds of evenings, and any woman I know personally is off the table.
Too complicated. Too much mess. A different kind of mess than I’m used to, and one that I could do without.
But I can’t bring myself to survey the rest of the room. I just keep staring at Olivia, drawn to her. She smiles, but her happiness seems muted, more for Riley’s benefit than genuine enjoyment. She looks exhausted, like she’s been awake for days.
As I watch, Cole and Riley move away, heading over to the bar together. Sophie goes with them, and Olivia stays over by the wall, leaning against it. The second everyone else leaves, the false smile slips from her face.
What the hell is up with that?
Declan taps the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m heading over to the bar. Looks like my real fiancée is over there.” He shoots me a wink, and I scowl at him, rolling my eyes.
“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter. I know Declan’s just giving me shit, as usual, but it’s a little too soon.
Next to me, Noah drains the last of his merlot. “I’m gonna go get a refill,” he says. “You want anything?”
I shake my head, and the two of them head off, leaving me alone at the table.
My gaze lingers on Olivia for a long time.
Fuck it. I can’t help it. I’ve got to know what’s bothering her. Everything else can wait. What’s one conversation?
Taking my drink with me, I head across the room toward her. She notices me coming, and her cheeks flush. She drops her gaze to the floor, trying to play it off, but nothing slips by me.
“Wallflower tonight, huh?” I lean against the wall beside her, glancing down at her. In the heels, the top of her head almost reaches my shoulder. Almost.
She rolls her eyes. “Nosy tonight, huh?”
I grin. If she wants to dish it out, I can take it. “Just saw you from across the room,” I say with a shrug. “You seemed like you weren’t in much of a party mood, so I thought I’d come over and chat with you.”
“Why?” She gives me a sideways glance, guarded. “Are you not in a party mood?”
“Not particularly,” I say.
She sighs, then lifts her almost-empty martini with a begrudging smile. “I’ll drink to that.” I tap my glass to hers, and she downs the rest of her drink in one swallow.
“Whoa,” I say with a laugh. “It’s that kind of night, huh?”
“It probably shouldn’t be,” she admits. “I mean, it’s Riley’s engagement party.”
“Let me get you a drink,” I coax. “Whatever’s bugging you, it shouldn’t stop you from enjoying a nice party like this.”
“Enjoying it like you would?” She lifts a brow at me, teasing.
“Sure. Why not?” I offer her a disarming smile, and she looks at the floor, her cheeks red again. “When life gets you down, that’s when you most need to let loose.”
She hums as if considering, then says, “I’m good, Reed. Thanks, though.”
We stand in silence for a minute, and she stares at her empty glass. I heave a sigh and pace away from the wall, toward the open bar.
The bartender looks up as I approach. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Actually,” I say, “this might seem like a bit of a strange request, but…” I nod at the bar behind him. “Do you think there’s any way I could convince you to let me borrow an entire bottle of tequila?”
He blinks at me silently for a moment, then starts to shake his head.
Before he can say no, I grin at him, clasping my hands together. “Please? It’s a very special evening, and it’ll keep me out of your hair for a while.”
He seems to consider this. Finally, he sighs, turning toward the wall of bottles. “Silver or gold?”
“Gold,” I say. “Always gold. And can I get a couple of glasses, too?”
“You want limes?”
I nod solemnly. “Of course.”
The bartender hands me everything I requested, and I gather it all up into my arms. The situation is a little precarious, but I manage to get it all back to the table nearest Olivia without dropping or breaking anything.
“What on earth are you doing?” she asks, sounding idly curious rather than alarmed. “Is that an entire thing of—”
“Sure is.”
“How did you get that?”
“I asked,” I say, shooting her a wink. “I’m a charming guy, you know.”
In spite of herself, she smiles, and I feel a little rush of victory—that was the goal all along. “So what’s your goal?”
“You wanna head out to the patio?” I tip my head toward the double doors a few yards away. “It’s nice out there. String lights, and all. And it’s a warm night.”
She hesitates for a moment, then concedes. “Okay, fine, fine. Couldn’t hurt.” I start to pick up the bottle and the glasses again, but she stops me, taking her own glass. “You’re gonna drop something,” she teases. “Don’t make that poor bartender regret helping you.”
“Good thinking,” I say.
We make our way outside, where it’s nice and quiet, aside from the crickets singing in the bushes around the brick patio. Lights, strung from posts above our heads, glint off of the sequins on Olivia’s dress.
I pour her some tequila, squeezing the lime over the glass with a flourish, and hand it to her. She lifts her drink in a toast. I clink my glass against hers and say, “To Riley and Cole.”
“To Riley and Cole,” she echoes.
We both take a sip, and she wrinkles her nose.
“Ugh, that’s strong.”
“That’s what the lime is for,” I say. “To cut the flavor.”
She takes one of the lime wedges and squeezes it copiously over the glass, then pops the entire thing into her mouth for a few seconds.
“Well, that’s one way to do it.”
She spits out the lime and smiles at me. “That’s the way to do it. Come on, did nobody ever show you how to do a tequila shot?”
“I prefer to sip my liquor,” I reply, with a lofty lilt in my voice. “Especially at a classy event like this.”
“Right,” she laughs. “Classy. You think it’s classy to steal an entire handle of tequila from the bar?”
“I didn’t steal it,” I say indignantly. “He gave it to me. Of his own free will.”
“Either way, you’re out here on the patio with fifty ounces’ worth of bad decisions at your best friend’s engagement party. That doesn’t scream class to me.”
“Did you know that I’m a blight on the Eastwood family name?” I say it brightly, as if it’s funny, despite the anger simmering in my chest at the reminder of my conversation with my father.
To my surprise, she smiles at that, pouring a little more tequila into both of our glasses. “Hey,” she says. “I’ll toast to that.”
As we talk and drink, the conversation flows, and to my relief, Olivia starts to loosen up. She even laughs several times, despite the fact that she still seems stressed. I love the sound of her laugh. It’s infectious. I can’t help but echo it.
She’s good company—fun and easy to talk to. She’s funny, never missing a beat. After a few drinks, I work up the guts to ask her what’s up with her tonight.
“You seem kinda tense,” I say. “I came over because you looked like you weren’t exactly enjoying the party. Is there something on your mind?”
She sighs, her gaze dropping to the tilework on the table. Her fingertip traces the mosaic patterns as she says, “Yeah. It’s been a rough few months, and today was… particularly rough.”
“If you don’t mind my asking—why?”
“It’s complicated,” she says. “You don’t want to hear all my—”
“Sure, I do,” I tell her. “We’re hanging out, we’re only part way through this bottle—” I shake the tequila; it’s about half full. “I’ve got time.”
She hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Okay, fine. I quit my job a few months ago,” she admits heavily. “It was a long time coming. My boss was a dick, and he finally crossed a line, so I walked out—and then I instantly regretted it.”
“You shouldn’t regret walking away from a bad situation.”
“Oh, I don’t regret that. It’s just… I would’ve quit a lot sooner if it was actually a good idea. But I’ve worked for that man for years now, and I have no other references on my resume. No one else to call on to line up my next job.”
“I see,” I say slowly.
“Basically, my asshole boss has been badmouthing me during all of my reference checks,” she says bitterly. “All because I wouldn’t sleep with him.”
She takes a sip of her tequila, and I stare at her, frowning.
“You wouldn’t get this,” she continues, teasing me a little, “but I’ve been kinda having some money troubles lately. I don’t save much. I support my parents, see, and a lot of what I make goes to them. And since I couldn’t get the kind of job I had before—”
“You had to take whatever you could find?”
“Exactly.” She nods. “So I’m working two minimum wage jobs just to survive, and the bills won’t stop piling up.
” She takes another long drink, and a shudder goes through her at the acrid taste.
“I keep applying for jobs that pay better, but they all require references, and my old boss is gatekeeping me from everything I find. I just got rejected from another one this morning.”
“That’s terrible,” I say softly.
She looks up at me, and there’s a moment’s hesitancy in her green eyes. She downs the rest of her drink. “Well, yeah. It is what it is.” There’s reluctance in her voice, as if she regrets telling me everything. “I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you at a party.”
It bothers me deeply that she’s struggling, working herself ragged just to survive. I know I could help her, but I also know that she wouldn’t accept the money. She’s not one to take charity. In the time that I’ve known Olivia—and it’s been a long time—I’ve known her to be firmly independent.
But I can offer her something besides charity.
I reach over to brush her hair back, and she lets out a quick breath, surprised—but she doesn’t pull away as I tuck the loose strands behind her ear.
I’ve always thought she was gorgeous, but I never would’ve made a move before. We know each other. It’s too complicated, and that’s not my style.
Tonight, though, I can’t stop myself. Maybe it’s the tequila, or the muffled sounds of the party inside, or the conversation we’ve been having. Maybe it’s just the warm glow of the lights above, the way they shine in her eyes.
My fingers slide along her jaw, and I tilt her chin up gently. “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind. And maybe I can distract you from those troubles for a little while.”